


Within these Hands

by jepifish



Series: Ferdithea Angst [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Academy phase, Angst, F/M, Loose Canon, Minor sex references, Post B-support, Romance, ferdithea, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jepifish/pseuds/jepifish
Summary: Dorothea wrestles with her conflicting feelings for Ferdinand as she tends to the burn he sustained when he baked her treats. Loosely based off of their B-support conversation.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Dorothea Arnault, Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Series: Ferdithea Angst [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668373
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	Within these Hands

The hand that Dorothea held in her own was much rougher than she could have ever imagined. She had never expected the palm to be so broad – nor to be etched with deep scars and firm callouses. The fingers, she had so often seen gloved in pristine white silk, were long and thick. Strong enough to send a javelin flying through the air at full force. 

She rolled her eyes. How silly she must have looked to him, fussing over a burn on the hands of a would-be knight. Hands that had been broken and made new again through tireless hours of training. She had seen these very hands in action: the scars and callouses were no mere decoration, one day, the owner of these hands would become a Great Knight.

These were the hands that belonged to Ferdinand von Aegir.

And there was nothing he didn’t excel at as long as he put his mind to it.

Dorothea sighed as she began to wrap a clean linen bandage around the freshly cleaned burn wound on Ferdinand’s hand. She was annoyed. Ferdinand was unsuited to such hands. Such scars did not accurately reflect the life the young scion had lived so cosily nested within the lap of luxury.

He had earnt nothing in his life. Not even his place at the academy – despite his smarts and skill on the battlefield – had been truly earnt. Everything he had achieved had been by virtue of his privilege.

Yet it was how Dorothea secured her place at the Officers’ Academy that filled the whispers in the shadows of the hallways.

A cloud of darkness came over her thoughts.

So, what if a nobleman had helped her pay the extortionate fee to study at Garreg Mach? She had worked hard for her place.

She had always worked.

Whether it be in the alleys, or on the stage, everything Dorothea had, she had worked hard for. Despite performing night after night, she crawled up into the attic of the dormitory of the Mittlefrank Opera House and burnt the candle at both ends to study magic. She’d done it all by herself, too. No master of magic had been paid a hefty sum to teach her how to Reason: she had deciphered the archaic text from the worn pages of the tomes all by herself.

However, the accomplishment never seemed to be enough to command the kind of respect Ferdinand did amongst the students. Her achievement had been tainted by talk of Dorothea’s sponsor. People smiled at her face, praised her voice, but behind her back all they ever talked about was how Dorothea Arnault had slept her way into the Officer’s Academy.

“Dorothea?” Ferdinand’s voice ripped her from her thoughts, “Is anything the matter?”

She realised that she had wound the linen bandage around his hand so tightly that it had begun to cut off his circulation.

“I’m fine, Ferdie,” she sighed as she hastily loosened the bandage, “I was just lost in thought, that’s all. I’m sorry about your hand.”

“Dorothea, I have not seen you wear such a forlorn expression before. I am not worried about my hand – I am more worried about you.”

She flinched. Ferdinand’s voice was gentle. Nothing like his usual resonant tenor that demanded attention no matter the context.

Dorothea ignored him. She focused herself on tending to his burn once again. She wanted him to be out of her presence as soon as possible.

“I understand that you are not particularly fond of me.” Ferdinand said at length, choosing his words carefully, “However, as your classmate and, more importantly, ally on the battlefield I cannot help but be concerned about your well-being, Dorothea. If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

Dorothea paused her work and smiled charmingly at Ferdinand.

“I’m fine. The treats you baked for me were more than enough help.”

Her tone was firm. The look in Ferdinand’s warm amber eyes showed that he understood not to press the matter any further.

She took a deep breath and resumed her work. Her acting skills had managed to hide the true extent of her irritation towards him quite well. Just a little longer and soon he would be out of her sight.

Who was _he_ to be concerned?

Had Ferdinand’s other attempts to win her favour failed so miserably that he had resorted to feigning concern in hopes of winning her over?

Or was he patronising her? He must have thought that worrying about her was part of his duty as the noblest of nobles.

She suppressed a cackle.

Whatever it was, she resented it. It made her feel confused. Frustrated. 

She stole a quick a glance at the boy in front of her. He was unusually silent as he watched Dorothea continue to redress his wound. Ferdinand von Aegir and silence rarely made an appearance together. This should have been a moment that Dorothea revelled in. But the frown that marred his lofty brow bothered her. She wanted to reach out and press her fingers against the lines. Take whatever tension that was there away. Was he frowning because he was really worried about her?

Dorothea looked away quickly. She was ashamed of herself. His behaviour was clearly an act. Ferdinand might not be as as explicit as Sylvain, but he was just like all of the other nobles who had lusted after her, she thought to herself. For him, she was just another challenge for him to overcome - much like his permanent, futile, quest to surpass Edelgard.

She stole another glance at him, but this time Ferdinand’s eyes met her own.

Never had any noble tried to put up such a convincing pretence with Dorothea. If this was all an act than Ferdinand was truly a remarkable performer. One worthy of the finest stage in all of Enbarr. For within the depths of the amber of his eyes shone the light of sincerity, care, and something else Dorothea did not want to delude herself into believing. She tore her eyes way from his and her hands fumbled hastily at the bandages.

She had become all too aware of his presence, now. His breathing – slow, steady, calm – seemed to ring as loudly as a church bell in her ears. The feeling of his skin against her own heated her blood to an uncomfortable degree. She felt her palms become sweaty.

Disgusting.

For the first time ever, Dorothea found herself wishing Ferdinand would say something. Anything. Anything to break the silence between them. Any excuse to mock him. To make things normal again.

“I’m done now. You’re free to go Ferdie.” Dorothea said with a sigh, a wave of relief washing over her, knowing that soon Ferdinand’s presence would no longer bother her.

Ferdinand, however, did not relieve her of his company as promptly as she would have liked.

He stayed in his seat. Unmoving. His eyes, trance-like, were once again fixed on her own.

It was if he hadn’t heard a single word.

Dorothea scraped her chair back, the nasty, dissonant screech of wood against the stone floor of the infirmary seemed to snap Ferdinand back into reality.

He laughed nervously and flexed his hand.

“My, my Dorothea!” Ferdinand exclaimed, his voice a touch louder than normal, “You have truly outdone yourself this time. I always knew that you were a woman of many talents; however, I never could have imagined that your medical skills were this good. I can hardly feel any pain from my burn at all. I am sure my hand will be ready to use as per normal in no time!”

Dorothea turned her back on him to clear away the first-aid kid.

She needed a distraction.

The air between the two was still awkward. Frustrating.

Dorothea let out a nervous chuckle, “Now, now, Ferdie, there’s no need to exaggerate like so.” She tried hard to contain herself, maintain her famed Prima Donna composure, “You can hardly call what I did _medicine_.”

She refused to turn around and meet his gaze. She would not be able to forgive herself for making such a foolish mistake a third time. Her nervousness was starting to get the better of her.

“You ought to be careful. Give it a few days before you try to wield an axe against Edelgard; you wouldn’t want to exacerbate the wound and end up in the infirmary again.”

“Ah! I do not think it would be so bad to end up in the infirmary, again, as long as I have you to tend to my wounds.”

“Ferdie, you can stop with the flattery, it’ll only make me less fond of you than I already am.”

She bit her lip, ashamed at the lack of conviction in her voice. She hoped Ferdinand had not caught on.

“I do not think it is good for you to constantly underestimate yourself like that. I am only being honest. I have been injured many times before – I mean it when I say that you did a fine job.”

Once again, she flinched at the overwhelming sincerity that poured out of his resonant tenor.

“Dorothea,” Ferdinand said gently, “You have spent so much of your life being a source of joy and entertainment for people. However, sometimes, when I look at you, I feel an incredible sense of sadness coming from you."

A terrible, sickly feeling rose in her stomach. She felt exposed. Bare to everything in front of him.

"It is as if your mind is dwelling on something that –.”

Like that time at the fountain.

“ _Don’t_ talk to me like you _know_ me, Ferdinand!” Dorothea snapped.

She turned to face him. Her chin held high with pride. Her emerald eyes glowing with fury. She would not let him invade her mind like that. To pick at the worst of her insecurities just so he could lull her into the arms of a beautiful trap. 

Ferdinand’s eyes widened in surprise. He said nothing: he only looked at Dorothea as she glared at him with the eyes of a viper ready to strike should he utter one more word out of turn.

At length, he bowed.

Solemnly.

His noble head so low Dorothea found the sight difficult to behold. Whatever pride she had left seemed to crumble away. 

“Forgive me, Dorothea, I have overstepped my bounds. It was not noble of me to pry into your personal life, like so. To make such assumptions about you is base behaviour. I have hurt you deeply - I understand if you wish to never speak to me again.”

He did not look at her. His eyes were fixed firmly to the ground as he remained bowed throughout his apology.

Yet Dorothea did not need to look into his eyes to know that he meant every word he said.

“I shall take my leave.”

Ferdinand did not raise his head to look at her as he turned on his heel towards the entrance to the infirmary. As if by their own will, her eyes could not help but watch him leave. They were fixed on the unusual slump that appeared within his shoulders. His gait, always so proud, so confident, so _noble_ , was now unrecognisable. He had made sure to close the door behind him as he left. As if he knew that the moment Dorothea could no longer hear his footsteps echoing in the corridors she would crumple to the ground in a fit of tears.

Why did he care?

How could he tell?

What was there for Ferdinand to gain from caring about her?

She was nothing.

She came from nothing.

She had nothing.

Even the fame she had as a songstress would only last until some other beautiful starlet with a bell like soprano inevitably graced the stage of the Mittlefrank Opera House, turning Dorothea into nothing but a has-been. She was kidding herself if she really thought she could become a great mage: she was leagues behind Lysithea and Annette. The only thing she had was her beauty. Even then, she would lose that too. That’s why she came to Garreg Mach. She would find her spouse, here, amongst the knights. They would be wealthy enough to look after her, maybe with a title, but not of a rank that would be out of her reach. Dorothea knew the bounds in which she was allowed to operate in all too well. She knew that no self-respecting high-ranking noble would ever sully their reputation by keeping her company. That none of them would be foolish enough to risk being disinherited by their parents by falling in love with someone like her.

Even Manuela, now a respectable physician and Professor at Garreg Mach, had trouble finding love. Dorothea could not even hold a candle to her mentor – what hope did she have?

Yet, in all of his arrogance, his pomp, his rhetoric, Ferdinand von Aegir looked at her like no one else had ever done.

But, _why?_

It was becoming impossible to bear.

Dorothea cradled her head between her knees to stifle a sob as she wrestled with her thoughts. She did not want to risk someone walking in on her in such an embarrassing state. If any of the other students found her, it would be all the talk in the Dining Hall for weeks to come. Whom had broken the heart of the famed diva? She could hear it already. The rumours, the gossip. There was no one in the room, but she could already feel their snickering, the judgemental glances. She could already tell how they would look at her.

How would Ferdinand look at me if he saw me like this? She thought to herself as her mind naturally wandered back to him. Back to the look in his eyes. Back to the sincerity in his voice. Back to the sad sag in his shoulders as he left the infirmary.

“I hate Ferdinand von Aegir,” Dorothea said aloud with as much resolve as she could muster through the tears, “I hate him. I have always hated him. I hated him back when I was a child, and I hate him now. And I will continue to hate him.”

She needed to hear the sound of her own voice to remind herself of her true feelings. To pull herself back together.

A fresh set of tears burst forth

“There’s nothing about him to like,” she continued, struggling to get the words out through the sobs, “He’s arrogant. A snob. Patronizing. Oh Goddess, he’s even friends with Lorenz! That says enough about his character.”

The sobbing stopped momentarily. The thought of Lorenz and his ridiculous haircut brought Dorothea to a giggle.

Once again, however, the memory of Ferdinand leaving the infirmary returned to her mind. The image seemed to be imprinted there permanently.

“He’s only pretending to care so he can get what he wants from you,” she said softly, “He doesn’t _really_ like you, Dorothea, why would the son of Duke Aegir – esteemed Prime Minister of the _Adrestian Empire_ – be interested in you for anything but sex?”

She flinched at the crudeness of her own words.

It was what she needed to hear, but, somehow, she could not bring herself to believe it.

She did not want to believe it. 

She had wanted to follow him when he was leaving. To press her palm against his back, to straighten out that slump, so he could walk away with that confidence and pride she hated so much. 

No, she didn't want him to leave. She wanted him to turn around and look at her. 

Dorothea raised her hands to her face - the same hands that had tended to Ferdinand's before. People had often told her she had beautiful hands. A delicate wrist, graceful, long fingers, and soft smooth skin. They betrayed no mention of the suffering she had endured in her life. No scars marred the palms. 

Her hands were entirely empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, so its my first time ever writing fan fic. I absolutely Ferdithea, but there's so little content of them (whatever is out there I have already devoured), so I just decided to write what I wanted to see. Its very angsty, I know, but I promise I have more stories planned and they're not all going to be like this.


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